TribeMeet Scotland 2018 (Yakday)

I know the mounted weapon is on the vehicle; my Pit Slaves wouldn't be able to use it off the bike anyway.

I'm working on the basis that I used to ride my bicycle one handed, so Pit Slaves should be able to do the same, and I would expect the mounted gun trigger is built into the bike's handlebars, so my Pit Slaves really need to ensure they don't get arm injuries.

(Expects to proceed to have all three Pit Slaves on bikes get arm injuries so they can't pilot their bikes or shoot the mounted shotguns).
 
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Nah, you just move the trigger to being pressed by a knee, and when his leg falls off move it to be activated by clenching his buttocks, and when that gets shot off move it so it's activated by headbutting the target at 90mph...

Actually steering a bike is for losers.
 
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Nearly there!

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You chaps got any special dietary requirements or favourites? I was going to get some snacks in - some cans of juice, crips, nuts, that kind of thing.

Also, I used random.org and rolled my territory. The gang (experience etc) was created using whatever the YakTribe servitors spat out.

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13 - Old Ruins
53 - Workshop
55 - Guilder Contact
13 - Old Ruins
53 - Workshop

So much for random :LOL:
 
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I've got my work cut out for me on the random rolls; territory, plus XP rolls and a random advance for every gang member. I'll look at the rolls tomorrow or Friday.

No dietary requirements here.
 
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I totally hadn’t even thought of territory! If you could let me know what yours is @Ardavion ill find a suitable map, work out what I want to include, then totally pester stoof into making one! :p

I’m going to be making individual cards for me gangers and vehicles (one of the few things I like about n17)!

And, even tho ours is taking a slightly different path, here’s @MancInventor’s original fiction to get you in the mood! (I hope he doesn’t mind, it’s just too good not to share!)...

It had been a long ride, after a long journey down Hive primus from the spire for Gray Kin-Feller and his son Karim. The eccentric billionaire was known to embark on flights of fancy but this was a big one, even for him. Now they were here, wherever here was, in the ash wastes during a dust storm with nothing but each other and their sturdy Grox steeds for company. Karim looked at his father, his travel-weary face stared blankly into the dust storm as he sat motionless in the saddle of his Grox.

‘Dad, what are we doing here?’

No Answer.

After a while the dust storm abated, revealing an empty plain with a single ramp-shaped dune protruding from the ash like a lone tree in a field. The smell of promethium fumes hung faintly on the air, although there was no other sign that a vehicle had been anywhere near.

‘Dad!’ Karim shouted, ‘it’s taken twenty days to get here, and in that time you’ve barely spoke. I still have no idea where we are going or why, so please, tell me, what are we even doing in this place? It’s empty, there’s nothing of value here.’

Gray stared outward still. He’d barely moved in the last hour.

‘Did I ever tell you the story of Bootless Bill?’ he said. Karim bristled at his question being ignored. ‘Your grandfather worshipped the ground he walked on. He was never around for my birthdays, it was the same day as Bootless Bill’s and he’d always put on some sort of monster truck show to celebrate. Your grandfather, my father, was more interested in that than he ever was in me.’

Gray jumped down off his grox and grabbed a handful of ash from the ground and smelled it before letting it sift between his fingers. He grabbed the reigns of Knot, his faithful Grox, and began to lead it towards the dune. Knot became restless the nearer they got.

‘What has some low-born, hive-banished truck racer got to do with this place dad? And what about the last twenty days of my life, which I’m never getting back, not to mention the next twenty we’ve got to endure to get home?’

‘This is home son.’ Gray said. ‘Or at least it will be soon.’

‘What are you talking about? Mum was right, you’ve gone insane!’

‘I know it seems like that but trust me, I’ve never seen things more clearly Karim. You see, I never really had a father, I hated truck racing so my father didn’t understand me. I wanted lo love it, I wanted to be by his side cheering on old Bootless Bill and his truck, the Colonel Jackson, I just didn’t get it, I didn’t feel it, couldn’t connect. And so my father drifted away, he felt the same way about me. After I left home, we never spoke again up to the day he died.’

He stopped at the foot of the dune and began unloading the equipment from the sled that Knot had been dragging since they left Grinston all them days ago. The ghostly roar of distant turbocharged engines flourished through the air like a specter then dispersed as quickly as it came.

‘Bill came to me in a dream. He hugged me like a son and sat me in the passenger seat of the Colonel—‘

‘Bootless Bill came to you in a dream? Dad, have you heard yourself! I’m going home, I want you to come with me, you need to see a doctor.’

‘Wait!’ Gray said, he grabbed his son by the arm. ‘Hear me out.’

‘He’s been dead for years Dad, these aren’t psychic messages, they’re delusions.’

‘Hear me out.’

Gray stared hard into his Son’s eyes. There was such emotion and sincerity in his ash-beaten features that Karim could do nothing but nod.

‘It wasn’t like any dream I’ve ever had before. I felt it, like I was there. I even woke up with the bruises and scrapes I’d picked up during the race. It was from his early days, before he hit the big time in stadiums with bitumen Tar and macadam’s Asphalt tracks, it was a proper ash-dirt track, an old school figure of 8 with a jump in the middle. It was so real, I remember every overtake as if I did the move myself, I can smell the promethium and when I woke, my ears were still ringing from the roaring of those savage engines. Bill was astonishing, his reactions as sharp as a Space Marine’s, his racing as aggressive as a Goliath pitslave. The adrenaline coursed through me like never before. Finally I understood what had bitten my father.’

Gray’s eyes moistened, he grabbed a shovel from the sled and began swirling a figure of eight pattern in the ash.

‘It was like a drug, I had to get it again but I couldn’t. I tried thinking about him when I went to sleep, but nothing. I got down to the records hall and began researching Bill, all his history, his background, his racing highlights; still nothing. I began to lose all hope. Then one day, I grabbed a picture of your grandfather of the wall, it looked somehow different, then Bill’s voice whispered in my ear clear as crystal. He made a promise.’

Gray sat on the ground by the Figure of 8 he had swirled into the ash and began drawing in details. A fenceline, spectator stands, the start finish line, encampments, trucks and trailers.

‘That night, I had another dream as vivid and as real as the one before, but this time I wasn’t in the car, I was in the starter’s box. I waved the flag to start the race which sparked a sound so thrilling I would have given anything for it to never end. And it was the most epic race, my heart pounded all the harder with every lap, every sight and sensation of the place. I remember distinctively the journey to get there, riding with Bootless Bill to the track on the back of wild Grox before arriving at the paddock and climbing into the race control box. It was a beautiful track, a figure of eight just like the first one but somehow more refined. All the racing truck legends of yore turned up for the race, it was breathtaking.’

A cloud of ash was lifted from crown of the dune by a gentle gust and it rolled down its side carrying the hint of a whisper on the air.

‘That journey, is the one we just took Karim. And the promise Bill made—‘

‘I heard it.’ Karim said, an astonished look of wonder had taken hold of his face ‘On the air just then, in the dust. I heard it.’

‘If we build it, they will come.’ They both said together.

WELCOME TO THE INAUGRAL LIGHTNING DOME GRIMDARK TROPHY

You are invited by Gray Kin-Feller and his son to the first ever Grimdark Trophy race to be held in the Lightning Dome. Teams of all noble houses, all tribes and colonies, all are welcome to bring a racing truck into the race around the trophy circuit. The first prize is a dazzling 10 million creds, and not to mention the untold fame and fortune that goes with being the truck racing world champion!

Entry requirements for the race are as follows:

1 Truck, painted in a suitable race trim. One driver. One co driver/gunner and one barrel dropper in the back. Gray will provide all applicants with a truck FREE OF CHARGE!

First you need to customise your racing truck! Explore the lightning dome gathering scrap and upgrades to customize your racing machine. Pole position will be granted to the gang/tribe that owns most of the map. Play games of Necromunda (NCE rules) over a 2 day campaign to claim un-explored areas of the map all in the build up to the final destruction derby show-piece race.

And remember, the lightning Dome also has its very own THUNDERCUBE!

Who will win the 10,000,000 creds and gain notoriety (and nobility) within the spire? Or heck, just build your own spire out here in the wastes!

And as for food, I’m completely allergic to fruit and vegetables and if I accidentally eat one I may die violently and/or explode! It’s not that my mother didn’t hit me hard enough as Mrs Dangerous keeps pointing out, so don’t believe her! :D
 
*carefully puts a neat line through "Carrot sticks & dip" on his list*

I haven't had time to bake anything, but I'm going to do a supply run today to get a mix of snacks.

ill find a suitable map, work out what I want to include, then totally pester stoof into making one! :p

You'll need to be quick, it's not that I use my work PC to do photoshop during working hours or anything, oh no, that would be totally unfair on my employer... but... yeah... "reasons" :LOL:

Good call on the Ganger cards, I think I'll do that myself!
 
CARROT STICKS! ....Pah!..... they are even worse than the little orange bits they put in coleslaw! :p:D

Since we are leaving the hive and the wastes are highly unstable, a hand drawn map might be completely reasonable! But if I can communicate with the machine spirit before it shuts down for the weekend, I will try!
;)
 
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I'd upload the random.org dice roll I did (38 dice in one go) but I'm not sure how to upload the image - happy to upload it if people let me know how.

I rolled:

64 for territory
3, 4, 6, 5, 6, 3, 6, 1 and 5 for the starting XP
5+5, 6+4, 8+6, 9+6, 4+1, 8+5, 3+3, 10+2, 4+5 for starting advances

I'll check what all that means in the books soon, and for the rolls that end up in skills, I'll figure out which tables I want the rolls against when I'm looking at the tables - usually tech/combat.

The rolls will just go down the roster, so Leader + 2 Technos + 6 Pit Slaves, in that order.
 
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64 is an Outpost:

15 Income, After each game roll a D6. On a roll of 6 you overhear vital information about the activities of gangs in the local area. You may add or subtract up to 2 from the Scenario Table roll when fighting the next game.
 
That is pretty perfect!
I’ll roll up mine as soon as I get home!
The Guilder contact is the Guilder you would have been using in February stoof if you havnt already invented him/her!
They caravan will be leaving primus and will be supplying the Gangs on the way to the racetrack!
 
Korvus Von Straumm looked around at the Van Saar gangers around him, expecting them to let him in on some joke any second. None laughed.

"That really is the transport we're taking out?" he asked with a sigh.

One of the gangers - Manticore, he thought the name was - nodded slowly, looking at the battered old Taurox, then back at Korvus.

"It's better than the other one - we call that the Junktrack."

Korvus didn't really want to see, let alone be aboard, a vehicle anyone had nicknamed the "junktrack". The Taurox wasn't even fully enclosed, and the turret mounted Autocannon didn't look like it had fired a shot in years. Korvus checked the small meltabeam emitter concealed in his ancient sword. It showed a faint green pulsing "ready" light. He felt slightly nervous for the first time in years - on the other side of the massive set of gates in front of him was the outside world. Polluted, poisonous... but somehow not lifeless, oh no. Lots of life that would probably want to kill him.

Outside. That was a special case. In space, where he had been many times ferrying goods up and down from the Eye of Selene, he had his cramped family shuttle craft to protect him from the void. In the hive he had his wits, his auto-targeter, his melta-sword, his bodyguards and walls. Lots of walls. Outside... he had the Van Saar gang his family had hired for the scouting mission, but that was it. No comfortable claustrophobia of a hive tunnel or a cockpit or even a fully enclosed driver's compartment. The nerves made the auto-targeter attached to his skull itch.

"Well then. I suppose we should go."

With a tortured scream of rusted runners and ancient pistons, the gates began to grind open. A huff of sulphuric, painful-to-breathe air came in bringing a sickly waft of yellowish ash. When they were open just enough to allow the Taurox out, they halted with a resounding thump he felt through his feet. Everyone piled into the Taurox and with an unhealthy growl the engine propelled them bouncing over the threshold onto the soft sandy wastes. The sand-blasted servitor controlled lascannons mounted on gimball turrets either side of the door tracked them carefully as the vast slab side of Hive Primus speared into the sky behind them.

It was a clear day, by wastes standards. Everything had a yellwoish tinge to it, but he could still see for miles... the feeling unnerved him. There was nothing between his fleshy features and those hills in the distance. Not a viewscreen, armour plate or wall. He ducked into the half-concealed driver's cabin and tried not to think about it. He hoped it would be worth it... there was money in the wastes... he was sure of it... cradling his ledger, he tried to get some sleep in the rocking compartment...

Korvus Von Straumm - Guilder - Archaeotech Powers Melta and Zen Shootist.
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